Stories tagged fiction

At the Flea Market

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A universe of knowledge, soon all lost, thrown out with the orange peels.

The Great San Francisco Poetry Wars, 14

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I only knew that my heart was not in my life as I was presently living it. I needed the breasts of my Helen in my mouth forever, or I was going to die. Die! Ah, the life of a poet! I couldn’t go on living like this. Why should I go on living like this?

Wiener Roast

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Some people think murder is a mortal sin, but when it came to my granddaddy’s dachshund I considered it a public service.

Wiener Roast

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Some people think murder is a mortal sin, but when it came to my granddaddy’s dachshund I considered it a public service.

Handyman

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She wanted a worker, someone who could get the job done. I had no reason to believe it was anything more than that . . .

The Great San Francisco Poetry Wars, 15

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Steve Bancroft’s future wife showed up at his door that same night, slamming her hand loudly against the door and shouting for him. “Steve, Steve, wake up. Damn it, come on. You forgot to pick me up at the airport. Who are you in there with? I said wa

Josephine Skinny Jeans: Chapter 1

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Lee found a ship’s figurehead in a dumpster behind some shitty Indian restaurant last night.

The Great San Francisco Poetry Wars, 16

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There was all this pomp and circumstance. We were each outfitted with robes, red of course, and mortar-boards with a gold tassel dangling over one eye. It made me positively dizzy. Plus I was extremely hung-over that day.

Noreen's Birthday Lunch

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Glamour is in short supply in Noreen’s life. Her son had briefly been engaged to a French girl but after being brought up on Velveeta cheese he could already foresee problems in the marriage and called it off.

The Great San Francisco Poetry Wars, 17

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So back to Berkeley we went, and started our own commune in a huge rented house on Derby Street where we could tear the fences down in all the neighborhood backyards. We created what we called “The Meadow.”

Protagonist Unbound

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Protag noted that Gertrud’s brow was knotted with stress and rage, as if she’d been drinking too much coffee and reading the latest translation of Simone de Beauvoir.

The Celebrity

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"He doesn't have a parish," I said. "He works in a hospital in the East Bay. He told me that if I were in that hospital and I woke up and saw him, I was in big trouble."

The Great San Francisco Poetry Wars, 18

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We all ran out of the house into the communal garden without fences. There stood Von Rotten with a smoking rifle in his hands, and our mascot Digger lying on his side, limp. We all looked at each other in disbelief.

Dream

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The afterglow of a vivid dream lingered in my emerging consciousness. A woman I did not know answered the door and invited me in. As she sat across from me, her skirt slid-up, exposing creamy smooth thighs. My brain immediately detected the fragrant scent of her budding…

The Great San Francisco Poetry Wars, 19

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His wings were down when he got into the truck. It was a used UPS truck we’d bought from someone in Berkeley, and we painted out the letter “S,” so that it just read “UP.”